


Chicken Soup and Checkers (or: Why the CJC is Now Required to Get Their Flu Shots on Time)

by hufflepirate



Category: Limitless (TV)
Genre: Caretaking, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Influenza, Sickfic, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-01-08
Packaged: 2018-05-12 16:08:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5672068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hufflepirate/pseuds/hufflepirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Brian gets the flu, Mike is the only one who can look after him.  They get off to an inauspicious beginning, but it turns out Brian has a certain charm when he's not throwing up - or taking NZT.  Mike might finally be coming around, in spite of himself.</p><p>Note: I changed the title a couple of days after posting this.  This is the title I originally had in mind but then when I went to post it I couldn't remember it... :P</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chicken Soup and Checkers (or: Why the CJC is Now Required to Get Their Flu Shots on Time)

Day 1

 

At this point, everyone on the team checked Brian's eyes as soon as they saw him, as a force of habit. NZT Brian's eyes had a specific gleam to them they'd all learned to recognize, and Off-NZT Brian's eyes didn't. Once you'd learned to see it, you knew whether he'd taken the pill at his apartment to work in transit or whether he needed it now that he was at work. Mike always knew anyway, because that was his job, but he'd learned to see it just the same, like all the rest of them.

This morning, Brian's eyes were something else when he woke the man up. Glassy. Brian groaned, but it wasn't his usual being-woken-up groan. It was hoarser, and almost immediately accompanied by a hard, wet cough that shook his whole body.

Mike sighed as Brian sat up, blinking like he was confused. He groaned again, and Mike tried not to feel mad about it. If Brian really _was_ sick this time, and not just pretending, it wasn't his fault. Probably.

"I'm sick," Brian said, voice raspy and pathetic.

"So why are you sleeping on your couch?" Mike asked. It was sometimes just as easy to get frustrated with Off-NZT Brian's incompetence as it was to get frustrated with NZT Brian's condescension.

Brian put a hand to his forehead with another groan, but then pulled it away and looked at it. "Table," he said to himself, then started rifling through the messy mound of paper in front of him until he found a note.

Mike rolled his eyes. "What are you looking for?"

"I left myself a note," Brian explained, "I have the flu."

"What the-" Mike grabbed the paper out of his hand, and sure enough, it was a note addressed to Brian, signed by NZT Brian. In it, he explained to Brian that he had the flu, gave him a shopping list of things he needed, and informed him that the flu vaccine took 2 weeks to be fully effective and then listed the people he knew who'd had the vaccine early enough for it to be working.

The note was was 1 part helpful, 2 parts condescending, and Mike almost found it comforting to know that NZT Brian could be as much of an asshole to Off-NZT Brian as he was to the rest of them.

It would have been more comforting if he hadn't been at the top of NZT Brian's 'people who've had their flu vaccine and can take care of you' list. Unlike the grocery list, it was unfortunately short.

"How do you not have _bread_?" he asked, as he walked into the kitchen to make sure Brian didn't actually have some of these things. Not that it was likely Brian had forgotten anything last night. But then, he _was_ sick, so maybe even NZT Brian could have been off his game.

"NZT Brian has bigger things to worry about," Brian answered "At least, he does when we're not planning to have people over."

"And you?"

"In case you haven't noticed, I'm ki-." Brian coughed again, doubling up and gasping for breath. When he caught it, he finished the sentence, "Kind of a screw-up." After another breath, calm this time, and measured, he added, "And it's - you know - I mean, I'm getting paid enough that it's not like if I can't make a PB&J I can't afford to-" He stopped to cough again, "Go out for dinner or order Chinese or something, so..."

"So you have a fridge full of leftover Chinese food and no bread for toast?"

"Pretty much." Brian at least managed to sound chagrined about it, though it could just have been that he was clearly still exhausted even though he'd slept last night. "It might be too old, though. I don't really remember how long it's been there. Maybe it's fine."

Mike grunted, opening the fridge. It was worse than he'd expected. Takeout and beer, and not much else. He didn't even have half the things that people usually just _collected_ somehow, like pickles and mustard, and all of his ketchup was in packets.

The cabinet he kept the rest of his food in wasn't much better. Peanut butter, syrup, and a couple of cans of spaghettios, but no _real_ canned goods to speak of, no chicken broth - Mike wasn't even sure Brian had _flour_.

When he turned around, Brian had laid back down on the couch. His head was turned toward Mike, watching him, but without any of his usual intensity. Even off NZT, Brian could be excitable and even, occasionally, perceptive. He cared about what was going on around him, or at least, he did unless it was outrageously boring, and even then, he'd stare off somewhere else like he needed a blank space to daydream in.

Mike tried not to let himself feel sorry for the man, but something about Brian's listlessness felt wrong enough for a little bit of pity to work its way in anyway.

"Mike," Brian asked, sounding pathetic, and clearly playing up the exhaustion in his voice to make the most of it, "Can you maybe go to the grocery store?"

He was being manipulative again, and demanding. Mike almost said no. But Brian Finch was an important Bureau resource, and he couldn't let him starve to death or make himself sicker eating leftovers of a questionable age and die of - whatever. Mike wasn't sure which one he was more worried about.

Mike sighed. "Yes. As soon as I call in to the office. They need to know you're not coming in."

He pulled out his phone and stared at the contacts screen for a moment, considering. Then he called Rebecca.

"Hi, [actual name withheld]. Problem with Brian?"

"You could say that. He's got the flu."

The line was silent on the other end for a moment. "Ok," she said finally, "We could have really used him on this one, but we'll make do. We'll be slower, but we got by without him before and we can do it again. Get him anything he needs and tell him I'll stop by after work to check on him and he should call me if he needs anything. If he's not going to take his pill we might as well put you and Jason out in the field. I know you guys hate being on babysitting duty."

A wave of affection for the woman rushed over him. But even so - "Don't come by after work. You haven't had your flu shot this year."

"Oh, sorry, I kept putting it off. But I got it last week, so I'll be fine."

"Apparently not. It takes 2 weeks to be fully effective. Brian left a note for himself while he was on NZT."

"Seriously?"

"Unfortunately." He glanced over at Brian, who smiled weakly at him like he could hear Rebecca's exasperation from here, even though there was no way he could. At least not while he was drug-free.

Rebecca sighed, "Alright. If he cared enough to write that down on NZT, he'll probably care enough off NZT to send me away. You and Jason will have to check in on him periodically to make sure he's ok."

Mike grunted in irritation. "No good. 'Ike' skipped his. Hates needles, apparently." He genuinely liked his partner most of the time, but he felt justified in being a little mad about this one.

"Is there anyone else who got theirs in time?"

Mike looked down at the list in his hand. "Naz, but there's no way she's gonna come play nursemaid. His dad can't get one, because he's still recovering from the surgery and they don't want to stress his immune system yet, so his whole family's out. He won't risk them carrying the germs to his dad even if they're vaccinated. There's a whole paragraph here about that, actually. I guess NZT Brian was pretty convinced that as soon as Brian realized he was sick he'd try to call his mother."

"Hm." He wasn't sure what to make of Rebecca's little hum on the phone, so he ignored it.

"The other people on his list are Boyle-"

"Not much better than Naz," Rebecca interrupted, as if he didn't know that already.

Mike cleared his throat, "His ex-girlfriend, Shauna, who he even admits might not say yes since he broke her heart, and Arthur Maciel."

"The guy whose mouse we rescued?"

"Yup."

"Hm."

When Mike didn't say anything, she asked, "And that's it?"

"Yeah."

"Huh."

There was a long pause before Rebecca said, "Sounds like you're going to have to babysit."

"I know," Mike answered, "I figured that one out."

"I'm sorry. We'll try to find you things to do around the office when he doesn't need you."

"That's not that much better."

"Best I can do."

"I know. See you later, Rebecca. I should make it to the office in-" he looked down at the grocery list again and sighed, "an hour and a half, probably."

They said goodbye, and as Mike hung the phone up Brian started grinning at him, a little bit of his old self appearing again through the illness. "Thanks, Mike."

"Yeah, yeah, just doing my job," he answered, turning his back on the man before Brian could drive him any crazier.

When Mike got back to Brian's apartment, the man was asleep again, still on the couch. He was snoring through his stuffed-up sinuses, an unfamiliar sound that continued steadily even as Mike carried the grocery bags in and dumped them on the counter. Snoring or not, Brian seemed to be sleeping deeply enough.

Mike put all the groceries away where he thought Brian would find them, listening for a break in the snoring that would indicate Brian was waking up. Instead, just as he was putting the last can of soup into the cabinet, in the front where Brian would find it first, he heard a rustling sound, and the snore was replaced by a painful-sounding wheeze. Brian had rolled over and was lying at an awkward angle that was obviously making things worse.

Mike closed his eyes and sighed. He couldn't leave the kid that way. Pushing the coffee table away from the couch as quietly as he could, he leaned over and picked Brian up, relieved when he didn't wake up. He didn't want Brian getting the idea in his head that he cared too much.

Brian's breathing eased once he was in Mike's arms, but then his head lolled backward and he started snoring again. Perfect.

The bed was unmade, which he really should have expected. He set Brian down in the empty space where the blankets had been shoved aside, and then threw the blankets over him as much as he could without jostling him too much. It wasn't pretty, but Brian wouldn't freeze if his fever dropped, and the snoring was a little quieter now. He _sounded_ more comfortable than he'd been on the couch, at any rate.

He was also clearly feverish, unpleasantly damp and warm to the touch, and Mike couldn't help worrying about that a little. But then he shoved that thought away. It was the flu. A totally normal, common ailment. Brian would be fine.

He left a glass of Gatorade on Brian's nightstand so it would be there when he woke up. The red kind, because it was too sweet for his own taste, which meant Brian probably liked it.

When Brian didn't call at lunch time, Mike figured he had things handled. Brian was rarely reluctant to call his babysitters in when there was something he wanted, much less something he actually _needed_. He almost didn't bother to check on him after work, and he wouldn't have if Rebecca hadn't asked so nicely.

He was actually glad he'd come. Brian was asleep on the middle of the floor, halfway between his bed and his bathroom door, and when Mike got close to him, he could smell vomit.

Mike cursed under his breath, shaking Brian awake more gently than usual. "Brian. Brian."

Brian woke up and started coughing again. Mike scooted backward away from his face, while trying not to look like he was getting out of the splash zone.

"Mike!" Brian smiled, sitting halfway up. There was vomit on the front of his t-shirt. Charming.

"What happened, Brian?" he asked sternly. 

"I got dizzy, so I laid down. I guess I fell asleep?"

"And when did you throw up? No. First,  _where_ did you throw up?"

Brian looked down, refusing to meet his eye. He hated it when Brian got squirrely with him. It always meant trouble. "Almostin the toilet."

"Almost?"

"I missed it by like... a foot?" Brian started coughing again, but Mike half wondered if it was an excuse to continue not looking him in the eye.

"Anyway," Brian said when the coughing stopped again, "I started trying to clean it up, and that's when I got dizzy and I thought I'd better go back to bed, but then walking was worse and I just had to sit down for a little and then... lying down seemed better?" 

Mike squeezed his eyes shut in frustration. Of course. Of _course_ Brian hadn't been home doing reasonably well and leaving him alone. He'd been here getting worse and making a mess. Because that was how this whole job had been from the start.

"Why didn't you _call_ me?" he asked.

"My phone's in the living room."

That actually was a fair answer, and one Mike couldn't help feeling slightly guilty about. He should have realized Brian didn't have his phone on him.  But in his defense, Brian could have asked for it.

"So, if you didn't get up and eat, what did you throw up?"

"I think mostly last night's leftovers? I drank like half the Gatorade but there was definitely more than Gatorade when I threw up. There may have been rice involved." Brian started coughing again, harder than he had since this morning, and Mike was - perhaps selfishly - glad Brian hadn't managed to eat anything today and probably didn't have anything left in his stomach.

Mike sighed. So many problems to fix, and so few that he actually _wanted_ to deal with. What had he ever done to deserve this?

"Ok," he said, trying to balance his quickly-lengthening to-do list, "Ok, so how do you feel _now_ , Brian?"

"Not as dizzy?"

Mike sighed, "Ok, good. Do you think you could eat something, or not yet?"

"I don't know?"

Mike nodded. "Ok. Fine. So, we'll get you cleaned up first, and then we'll worry about that."

Before he helped Brian up, he asked, "And tell me the truth, Finch - how bad's the bathroom?"

"Pretty bad," Brian answered sadly.

Mike nodded in acknowledgment. "So, we're gonna try standing, and we'll get you into a clean shirt, and then we'll see how you're feeling after that. You can brush your teeth later." Later, like after he cleaned up the vomit in the bathroom. He was going to have to ask Naz for some major overtime on this one. And hazard pay.

Mike helped Brian to his feet, supporting him with an arm around his back. "Still not dizzy?"

Brian shook his head, but it clearly destabilized him a little, and he swayed in Mike's grip. "Whoo, maybe so, actually. Only a little?"

Mike nodded. "Alright. Just a few steps, then. You can sit down when you get to the bed."

"Uh-huh," Brian agreed, not nodding this time.

It was only a few steps, but Brian sank onto the bed like it was a relief to have made it there. Mike wondered if it might be better to just take the kid to the hospital and let them take care of him. And then while Brian was gone, he could send someone else to clean the bathroom. Then again, he was pretty sure most maid services didn't do things like that. Maybe they could send crime scene cleaners to do it. They'd probably cleaned up worse.

But he could talk to Rebecca about that once Brian was settled in again. "Where do you keep your clean shirts?"

"Laundry hamper. Unless I did laundry while I was on NZT, and then the second drawer on the left side of the dresser."

Mike nodded and opened the drawer, which was getting close to empty. He pulled out a plain navy blue t-shirt and walked back over to Brian. "Shirt off," he ordered, before realizing, as he watched Brian twist himself around in knots in an attempt not to touch the dried vomit on the front, that the man was going to need his help again. He grunted, stepping toward him. "Arms up."

If dressing a fully-grown man felt a little silly, at least Brian was more cooperative than his little nephews.

Brian was apparently thinking along the same lines. "Mike, do you have any kids?"

"Nah. Just a niece and a couple of nephews."

"Well, I bet you're a good uncle."

"I like to think so."

Brian at least looked neater, now, even if his eyes were still glassy and his breath smelled terrible.

"You feel like you can eat something, or not yet?" Mike asked.

"I think I'll just finish the Gatorade from earlier and see how it goes."

Mike nodded.

"Anyway," Brian added, stopping to cough after the word like he hadn't really been prepared to say it, "How'd you know red was my favorite?"

"Call it a hunch."

"It was a hunch."

The joke was of Brian's usual silly caliber, but the man's smile after he said it was still less exuberant than Mike was used to. "Just drink your Gatorade," he answered.

Brian drank the Gatorade with no immediate signs of wanting to throw up. Mike was relieved. "Alright. See how that sits, while I call Rebecca and give her an update. Maybe we'll try some chicken broth if your stomach stays settled. Get some protein in you."

"Ok."

Mike would have appreciated Brian's sudden cooperation more if the kid didn't sound so miserable about it all.

His phone call just gave him more bad news. Rebecca said he couldn't take Brian to the hospital unless he genuinely thought Brian might die otherwise, at least not for another few days. There wasn't a huge risk of the hospital turning up NZT if they ran tests on him, but it was still a risk they couldn't take. She'd checked with James, the only other person they thought might be willing to come take care of Brian for a couple of days, and he hadn't gotten the vaccine. Neither had Stavros, who Mike had held out hope might be willing to come clean up Brian's apartment even though it wasn't really his job.

Mike was on his own, and he was stuck here. If Brian was going to do things like pass out, he might be _really_ stuck here. As he hung up on Rebecca's last apology, fairly sure she'd forgive him for cutting her off, given the circumstances, he tried to resign himself to the thought of not going home tonight. He'd have to call [real name withheld] once he got Brian settled, and he wasn't looking forward to how _that_ conversation would go, either.

Back in Brian's room, the man was still sitting up, and Mike was met with the most cheerful greeting Brian had managed all day. "Hey! I think my stomach's ok now. At least, the Gatorade seems to be ok, and now I'm actually getting kind of hungry and I-" whatever he was going to say next was swallowed up in another fit of coughing, but Mike knew by now to take advantage of any pause when Brian got going.

"Good. I'll heat you up some chicken broth. Should be good for your throat, too."

Brian grinned at him once he stopped coughing. "Thanks."

Mike nodded. He'd get Brian's broth, and then he'd clean the bathroom, and then he'd figure out if he needed to leave or not, and he'd either call home to apologize for running late, or to apologize for staying here. It was a plan. Not one he liked, but better than no plan at all.

Brian's chicken broth stayed down, but given how long it had taken to clean up from the last time he got sick, Mike wasn't about to let him try anything more ambitious, even as he insisted that vomiting was a more common flu symptom among children than adults anyway and he probably wouldn't have to do it again.  More information from NZT Brian's note, and completely useless, as far as Mike was concerned, now that Brian had started puking anyway.

Even so, when he checked Brian's temperature it was high enough to make it clear that he shouldn't leave tonight. Brian couldn't be alone with a fever this high. Or, at least, he shouldn't be.

Mike's phone call home went about as well as he'd expected, but at least Brian had food in the house now so that he could make himself dinner.

Brian's couch was surprisingly comfortable to sleep on. He almost understood, right when he laid down, why Brian seemed to do it so often. But he was glad Brian was in the bed, now. It was better, for someone that sick.

 

Day 2

 

Brian snuck into the kitchen to make toast at 2:13 am. Mike pretended not to be awake.

Brian threw the toast back up at 3:11 am. Mike popped his head into the bathroom to make sure he'd made it to the toilet this time, and left him to it. When he heard the toilet flush, he made sure Brian brushed his teeth and drank something before he went back to bed.

At 4:47, Brian woke Mike up with a text that said he was dizzy again. He'd coughed so hard he saw stars. But at least his cough, once Mike was awake to listen to it, sounded a little drier than it had been yesterday.

At 5:14, Mike gave up on ignoring Brian's texts when the man started shouting for him from the other room. He went in and reassured Brian that he wasn't dying, then checked his temperature again. It was a degree higher than it had been last night. If it got much higher, he'd have to take Brian to the hospital regardless of what Rebecca had said about the risk of his NZT being discovered.

At 6:00, he left a message on Naz's office phone updating her on the Brian situation and telling her he wouldn't be coming in to work today unless or until Brian's fever dropped.

He had the apartment to himself for another 2 and a half hours before Finch had another coughing fit and decided to get up. NZT Brian _might_ have been reasonable enough to listen when Mike told him the best thing he could do right now was sleep. But he doubted it. Off-NZT Brian simply wasn't having it.

While Brian fiddled with a little piece of red modeling cley, they watched _Gremlins 2_ , which he said always made him feel better about pretty much anything. Then they watched _Gremlins_ , which he said was fine. Then they watched _Home Alone_ while he sat on the floor and started drawing up plans for how they could booby trap the apartment if necessary. Mike made him stop in the middle of the movie to drink more chicken broth, and then Brian was right back at it, which was sort of reassuring, though Mike wasn't sure he could trust it. Brian had seemed to be over the upset stomach before and hadn't been.

Mike wasn't sure whether Brian was trying to prepare for gremlins or burglars or actual, real threats. He hoped this wasn't paranoia or delerium. But he was also relieved that Brian had opted for paper and crayons instead of trying to build a diorama or a toothpick model or, God forbid, actual booby traps. And his temperature had gone down a degree and a half since this morning, which was encouraging.

Once he convinced Brian to take shower and a nap, he put the crayons away and tried to convince himself he was a bodyguard and not a babysitter. He called Jason and tried to be professional about it. There wasn't really a professional, bodyguardly way to ask a colleague to drop by the store and bring him jello and animal crackers. Jason agreed to leave them outside the door on his way home from work.

He had a little over three hours to himself while Brian was napping, but since he kept expecting Brian to wake up any minute, he couldn't really make much use of it. He watched the news and checked his facebook and texted Jason for updates at work, and wished he didn't have to be here.

He could hear Brian wake up from the living room, and slipped his phone back into his pocket, turning to watch Brian come out of his room once he could get his cough under control. "How you doing?"

"Ok, I think. Maybe a little better? I'm not so sweaty this time."

Mike nodded. "Let me check your temp again," he said, getting up to get the thermometer while Brian sank down onto the couch.

Brian's fever was down another degree, and if he could hold down his jello this evening or they could get his fever down a little farther, Mike thought he could probably go home tonight. That was a relief, in more ways than one. "You're doing a little better. Still better keep working on hydrating you."

"Can I have more Gatorade?"

Mike almost told Brian to go get it himself, but the blue eyes staring up at him still weren't quite _right_ , so instead he asked, "Ok, what color?"

"Orange?"

Mike nodded. By the time he got back from the kitchen, Brian had tuned the TV to the end of a _White Collar_ marathon. Mike settled in to watch with him, hoping it didn't give Brian too many crazy ideas that he'd drag into their missions from now on.

When Mike started correcting the procedural errors in the show, Brian called him a know-it-all and a show-off. Neither of the insults had any venom behind them. Mike told Brian to keep drinking his Gatorade. Then he kept showing off.

When Brian laughed, it made him cough. "This is payback for the way I am on NZT, isn't it?"

Mike grinned. "I don't know what you're talking about. I just don't want you getting any funny ideas about how the FBI works. Any more than you've already got, anyway."

Brian rolled his eyes. "Fine. What else have they done wrong?"

Picking it all apart was actually kind of fun. Especially when Brian started joining in, too, pointing out all the things Naz would never let him get away with.

It was actually a nice evening, as much as he hated to admit it, and by 7:30, Mike was convinced that Brian would be fine if he left him here for the night. His fever wasn't much lower, but he'd kept down his jello just fine.

Mike made sure Brian had his cell phone on him this time, and finally went home.

 

Day 3

 

Mike usually didn't make a point of being early to this job, but after leaving Brian alone for 11 hours, he just needed to know if the man was alright.

He picked up some coloring books on the way, worrying a little bit about delaying his check on Brian. But it turned out to be fine. Brian was still asleep, and Mike had plenty of time to make some coffee (for himself - he wasn't sure he was ready to trust Brian's stomach with it yet) and set up the chess board he'd brought from home.

He might be able to go to work today, but it was better safe than sorry after the day before yesterday. And Brian wasn't so bad, now that he wasn't throwing up. If he was doing better today, Mike might even be able to make him get his own water and Gatorade and jello and toast. It might be an ok day.

It turned out that Brian hated chess. It was weird watching him admit it, but off NZT he found it frustrating, too hard to be really good at and too easy to lose when you weren't and played someone who was. It never seemed to be _even_ , which was why he preferred - checkers.

Mike couldn't remember the last time he'd played _checkers_ , but it turned out he wasn't too rusty to kick Brian's ass at it, so that was alright. He let Brian win the third game, and hoped it wasn't too obvious that he was making his 'mistakes' on purpose. He also hoped Brian wouldn't be too upset if he thought back to this moment once he was on NZT again and put two and two together.

When he got bored with checkers and started dozing off in front of _Home Alone 2_ instead, Mike wasn't really surprised.

In the morning, Brian managed toast, and around noon he managed real soup with noodles and everything, so Mike felt comfortable leaving to get more Gatorade while Brian was napping in the afternoon.

He got back to find Brian up and about, trying to measure the apartment so he could get the proportions right for a scale model of the place. He couldn't explain why he particularly wanted to _make_ a scale model of his apartment, but he probably had a point when he said he'd want one eventually.

Mike even pitched in. It was a vaguely annoying project, especially when it turned out that off-NZT Brian could be just as much of a picky perfectionist as NZT Brian, but at least it felt normal. Or whatever passed for normal these days. _Home Alone 3_ played in the background being generally terrible, but Mike could ignore it. Brian at least seemed happy enough, and his fever was dropping again.

Mike wouldn't let Brian put _Home Alone 4_ on next - there was only so much he was willing to take - but Brian accepted it and let Mike have free reign over the DVD player. They watched _Blade Runner_ , which faded into the background considerably less. It was one of Mike's favorite movies, but it had been longer than he'd realized since he saw it, and both of them ended up absorbed into the action.

Mike went home later than he'd meant to.

 

Day 4

 

Brian slept until almost 11:00, but when he got up, he barely had a fever at all, and told Mike he felt mostly better. His eyes were clear again, and he looked like himself.

Mike stayed through lunch, listening to Brian's cough and watching him carefully. The cough was completely dry now, not as hard, and not as frequent.

He went back to work in the afternoon, and was surprised to find that it felt weird being there without Brian. He pitched in with the project Jason had been working on while he and Brian were out, following the paper trail on a guy they suspected of corporate espionage.

Nothing was color-coded, or diagrammed, or tied up with yarn. He tried to remind himself that this was what _real_ normalcy looked like.

When he checked on Brian in the evening, he could tell Brian was hiding something. He didn't ask what it was. He just made dinner - spaghetti, but _real_ spaghetti, because he thought it would be better for Brian than a can of spaghettios - and quizzed Brian about how much water he'd had today. Not enough.

After dinner, he checked Brian's temp on the way out the door. The fever was gone. Good. Tomorrow was Saturday, and he hadn't much wanted to work on Saturday, even if 'working' was just dropping by Brian's apartment a few times over the course of the day.

 

Day 5

 

Mike tried not to worry about how Brian was doing. It was the weekend. Brian had been much better yesterday. Brian didn't even have a fever anymore.

Mike and Brian texted updates to each other once an hour. When Brian didn't answer as fast as usual, it meant he was lying when he said he had drunk more water, and Mike had to tell him off.

Brian was fine.

Mike didn't go to Brian's apartment, so he wasn't working. It was the weekend, after all.

 

Day 7

 

When Mike came in to wake Brian up for work on Monday, and to make sure he was healthy enough to go in, he was presented with a hand-made set of bird-shaped chess pieces, almost exactly like the ones in _Blade Runner_.  Brian had even used and baked real clay rather than his usual modeling stuff.

It was a surprisingly emotional moment.

Mike made a joke about it.

"What, not checkers?"

Brian laughed, "Nah. I think you're smarter than me. And anyway, NZT Brian would get bored playing checkers at work. He needs something harder to kick your ass at."

"That so?"

"Yeah."

"You're probably right. We'll have to play before you take your pill some morning, too, though."

When they got to the office, Brian was back on NZT, that NZT gleam was back in his eye, and he was racing ahead of all of them, back to his usual condescending rush.

But when he noticed the chess set on top of Mike's desk, instead of shoved into a drawer, where he'd been half-tempted to put it as Brian started to get worse again, he slowed down enough to give Mike a genuine, non-smug, off-NZT Brian-esque smile. "Mike - thanks for everything."

Then he was back at it, and Mike left Jason to deal with it, taking a well-deserved breather by the coffeepot.

Rebecca came up to him, eyebrow raised, "So, I see you survived."

Mike sighed, "Yeah. Turns out, I like off-NZT Brian a lot better than NZT Brian. Kind of a bummer having him back, even if it's less _babysitting_ babysitting now."

Rebecca laughed lightly, "Yeah, well, join the club. I mean, I know they're the same guy, but - I get it." She nudged him in the shoulder on her way out the door, "And hey, maybe one of these days we'll need a giant life-sized model of something instead of needing NZT work and we can keep him around just like he is."

They both knew it wasn't true. But Mike smiled anyway.


End file.
